He’d really thought that only happened in movies and novels.

Apparently not.

Having a deep respect for an older woman, especially a widow in her late seventies, Wyatt enjoyed the pot roast, ate the pie, and took the rest home that night at Mrs. Kate’s insistence. To this day, he made a point of stopping by Mrs. Kate’s on the first Sunday of every month with a toolbox and an empty stomach.

Unlike Mrs. Kate . . . Miss Gina offered horizontal naked favors as payment. With one look of hell no, Miss Gina offered a wink and cut a check. The woman still flirted like she was thirty and he was a teenager, but she never took it any further.

Thank God!

Mrs. Kate and Miss Gina were worlds apart and yet only a few miles away from each other. Wyatt appreciated both of them.

Wyatt turned down Miss Horizontal Naked Pot Lady’s B and B drive and dodged a pothole before the pavement turned into ground-up asphalt that resembled a driveway.

He recognized Jo’s Jeep and Miss Gina’s VW van in a vintage teal and white paint with a tuck and roll interior that looked like it just came off the showroom floor. Miss Gina loved her throwback from the sixties vehicle more than anything . . . and even after a storm the van appeared as if Miss Gina had been out polishing the thing the moment the precipitation dried up.

Wyatt didn’t bother walking into the inn. He stepped around the west side of the old Victorian and dragged his largest extension ladder with him. He knew months ago exactly where the roof was going to fail, but Miss Gina didn’t want to fix it until after the cosmos told her it was time.

The previous night’s storm was Miss Gina’s sparkling sign.

With a tool belt secured around his hips, he climbed up onto the roof of the three-story house and pulled himself higher on the brittle composition shingles.

The recent warm summers and lack of maintenance had blown free a good five-foot section the night before. This close to the coast, the weather did a number on every house. Miss Gina’s stood taller than most, had a decent ocean view from the widow’s walk on a clear day, and therefore took the brunt of every storm nature delivered.

Wyatt balanced on one knee while he wrote down the dimensions of the minimum of work that needed to take place to keep Miss Gina’s guests dry. He was extending his tape measure for the fourth time since climbing on the steep roof when he heard a noise behind him.

He twisted, caught himself as he slid half a foot.

“Wow . . . this is awesome.”

A little girl . . . seven, maybe ten, he couldn’t tell . . . had climbed up his ladder and was perched way too close to the edge of the brittle roof.

“Jesus!” He wasn’t sure where the kid had come from, but given how she was flipping around on the steep grade, she had no idea of the drop below.

“Climbing a tree must be like this,” he heard her say.

Wyatt felt his nose flare, took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said in a voice five times calmer than he felt.

“This is better than climbing a tree, isn’t it?” the kid asked as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

He wanted to counter her . . . say that if she were in a tree and fell the branches would break her fall, possibly end with a broken leg, not a broken neck.

To his dismay, the kid started to climb higher. “Can you see the ocean?” she asked as if they were sightseeing.

“Hold on!” This time Wyatt used a stronger voice.

The kid hesitated and slid a few inches.

Wyatt’s breath caught before the girl stopped herself and continued to climb. “Miss Gina said there was a leak . . . are you fixing the leak?”

“Yeah . . . you, you shouldn’t be up here.”

The tiny girl kept climbing and Wyatt felt his limbs crawling closer to the kid.

If he had a crew on this roof, he’d have to have scaffolding, rails to ensure the safety of his men. He didn’t hold any concessions for himself . . . but a little girl without any idea of the danger of dangling off the side of a roof was a complete risk.

“Stop!” He found himself almost yelling when the kid moved closer to the failing shingles.

Her big blue eyes grew wide, her feet stopped moving.

“It’s not safe up here for little girls.”

Her brows drew together and Wyatt knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Girls are just as strong as boys. More so.” She started to climb again. Determined.

Suddenly the world moved in slow motion. He saw her hand grip an unstable shingle, her feet lose balance . . . and a shriek sounded from below, drawing the child’s attention away from holding on.

With one hand dragging behind him, he let his boots lose their grip and took out a good twenty feet of Miss Gina’s roof before grasping hold of the kid’s hand and stopping the both of them on the gutter of the inn before they could take a two-for-one special ride to the nearest emergency room.

“Hope!”

“I got her.” Wyatt wrapped an arm around the kid and didn’t take another breath until he knew neither one of them was going over the edge.

Good God.

The little girl grabbed his chest with tiny nails and all but crawled up his neck.

“Hope?” A woman’s frantic cry had Wyatt opening his eyes.

Three stories down stood a blonde woman who had to be Hope’s mother. Before Wyatt could encourage Hope’s vise grip to leave some circulation in his neck, Miss Gina was beside the blonde.

“What the hell is going on?”

The blonde pointed up.

With her long skirts flowing behind her, Miss Gina tried to hold her hair back as the wind pushed against it.

“Hope, what are you doing up there?” Miss Gina asked.